Entering the house, Ann sat down silently before the expiring fire. Shewas tired, her bones ached, and she was faint for want of food.

Wearily she rested her head on her hands, and tried to think of someway to get a few cents. She had nothing she could sell or pawn,everything she could do without had gone before, in similaremergencies. After sitting there some time, and revolving plan afterplan, only to find them all impossible, she was forced to conclude thatthey must go supperless to bed.

Her husband grumbled, and Katey--who came in from a neighbour's--criedwith hunger, and after they were asleep old Ann crept into bed to keepwarm, more disheartened than she had been all winter.

If we could only see a little way ahead! All this time--the darkest thehouse on the alley had seen--help was on the way to them. Akind-hearted city missionary, visiting one of the unfortunate familiesliving in the upper rooms of old Ann's house, had learned from them ofthe noble charity of the humble old washerwoman. It was more thanprincely charity, for she not only denied herself nearly every comfort,but she endured the reproaches of her husband, and the tears of herchild.

Telling the story to a party of his friends this Christmas Eve, theirhearts were troubled, and they at once emptied their purses into hishands for her. And the gift was at that very moment in the pocket ofthe missionary, waiting for morning to make her Christmas happy.Christmas morning broke clear and cold. Ann was up early, as usual,made her fire, with the last of her coal, cleared up her two rooms,and, leaving her husband and Katey in bed, was about starting out totry and get her money to provide a breakfast for them. At the door shemet the missionary.

"Good-morning, Ann," said he. "I wish you a Merry Christmas."

"Thank you, sir," said Ann cheerfully; "the same to yourself."

"Have you been to breakfast already?" asked the missionary.

"No, sir," said Ann. "I was just going out for it."

"I haven't either," said he, "but I couldn't bear to wait until I hadeaten breakfast before I brought you your Christmas present--I suspectyou haven't had any yet."

Ann smiled. "Indeed, sir, I haven't had one since I can remember."

"Well, I have one for you. Come in, and I'll tell you about it."

Too much amazed for words, Ann led him into the room. The missionaryopened his purse, and handed her a roll of bills.

"Why--what!" she gasped, taking it mechanically.

"Some friends of mine heard of your generous treatment of the poorfamilies upstairs," he went on, "and they send you this, with theirrespects and best wishes for Christmas. Do just what you please withit--it is wholly yours. No thanks," he went on, as she struggled tospeak. "It's not from me. Just enjoy it--that's all. It has done themmore good to give than it can you to receive," and before she couldspeak a word he was gone.

What did the old washerwoman do?

Well, first she fell on her knees and buried her agitated face in thebedclothes. After a while she became aware of a storm of words from herhusband, and she got up, subdued as much as possible her agitation, andtried to answer his frantic questions.

"How much did he give you, old stupid?" he screamed; "can't you speak,or are you struck dumb? Wake up! I just wish I could reach you! I'dshake you till your teeth rattled!"

His vicious looks were a sign, it was evident that he only lacked thestrength to be as good as his word. Ann roused herself from her stupourand spoke at last.

"I don't know. I'll count it." She unrolled the bills and began.

"O Lord!" she exclaimed excitedly, "here's ten-dollar bills! One, two,three, and a twenty-that makes five--and five arefifty-five--sixty--seventy--eighty--eighty-five--ninety--onehundred--and two and five are seven, and two and one are ten,twenty--twenty-five--one hundred and twenty-five! Why, I'm rich!" sheshouted. "Bless the Lord! Oh, this is the glorious Christmas Day! Iknew He'd provide. Katey! Katey!" she screamed at the door of the otherroom, where the child lay asleep. "Merry Christmas to you, darlin'! Nowyou can have some shoes! and a new dress! and--and--breakfast, and aregular Christmas dinner! Oh! I believe I shall go crazy!"

But she did not. Joy seldom hurts people, and she was brought back toeveryday affairs by the querulous voice of her husband.

"Now I will have my tea, an' a new blanket, an' some tobacco--how Ihave wanted a pipe!" and he went on enumerating his wants while Annbustled about, putting away most of her money, and once more gettingready to go out.

"I'll run out and get some breakfast," she said, "but don't you tell asoul about the money."

"No! they'll rob us!" shrieked the old man.

"Nonsense! I'll hide it well, but I want to keep it a secret foranother reason. Mind, Katey, don't you tell?"

"No!" said Katey, with wide eyes. "But can I truly have a new frock,Mammy, and new shoes--and is it really Christmas?"

"It's really Christmas, darlin'," said Ann, "and you'll see whatmammy'll bring home to you, after breakfast."

The luxurious meal of sausages, potatoes, and hot tea was soon smokingon the table, and was eagerly devoured by Katey and her father. But Anncould not eat much. She was absent-minded, and only drank a cup of tea.As soon as breakfast was over, she left Katey to wash the dishes, andstarted out again.

She walked slowly down the street, revolving a great plan in her mind.

"Let me see," she said to herself. "They shall have a happy day foronce. I suppose John'll grumble, but the Lord has sent me this money,and I mean to use part of it to make one good day for them."

Having settled this in her mind, she walked on more quickly, andvisited various shops in the neighbourhood. When at last she went home,her big basket was stuffed as full as it could hold, and she carried abundle besides.

"Here's your tea, John," she said cheerfully, as she unpacked thebasket, "a whole pound of it, and sugar, and tobacco, and a new pipe."

"Give me some now," said the old man eagerly; "don't wait to take outthe rest of the things."

"And here's a new frock for you, Katey," old Ann went on, after makingJohn happy with his treasures, "a real bright one, and a pair of shoes,and some real woollen stockings; oh! how warm you'll be!"

"What in the world! You goin' to give a party?" asked the old manbetween the puffs, staring at her in wonder.

"I'll tell you just what I am going to do," said Ann firmly, bracingherself for opposition, "and it's as good as done, so you needn't say aword about it. I'm going to have a Christmas dinner, and I'm going toinvite every blessed soul in this house to come. They shall be warm andfull for once in their lives, please God! And, Katey," she went onbreathlessly, before the old man had sufficiently recovered from hisastonishment to speak, "go right upstairs now, and invite every one of'em from the fathers down to Mrs. Parker's baby to come to dinner atthree o'clock; we'll have to keep fashionable hours, it's so late now;and mind, Katey, not a word about the money. And hurry back, child, Iwant you to help me."

To her surprise, the opposition from her husband was less than sheexpected. The genial tobacco seemed to have quieted his nerves, andeven opened his heart. Grateful for this, Ann resolved that his pipeshould never lack tobacco while she could work.

But now the cares of dinner absorbed her. The meat and vegetables wereprepared, the pudding made, and the long table spread, though she hadto borrow every table in the house, and every dish to have enough to goaround.

At three o'clock when the guests came in, it was really a very pleasantsight. The bright warm fire, the long table, covered with asubstantial, and, to them, a luxurious meal, all smoking hot. John, inhis neatly brushed suit, in an armchair at the foot of the table, Annin a bustle of hurry and welcome, and a plate and a seat for every one.

How the half-starved creatures enjoyed it; how the children stuffed andthe parents looked on with a happiness that was very near to tears; howold John actually smiled and urged them to send back their plates againand again, and how Ann, the washerwoman, was the life and soul of itall, I can't half tell.

After dinner, when the poor women lodgers insisted on clearing up, andthe poor men sat down by the fire to smoke, for old John actuallypassed around his beloved tobacco, Ann quietly slipped out for a fewminutes, took four large bundles from a closet under the stairs, anddisappeared upstairs. She was scarcely missed before she was back again.

Well, of course it was a great day in the house on the alley, and theguests sat long into the twilight before the warm fire, talking oftheir old homes in the fatherland, the hard winter, and prospects forwork in the spring.

When at last they returned to the chilly discomfort of their own rooms,each family found a package containing a new warm dress and pair ofshoes for every woman and child in the family.

"And I have enough left,"' said Ann the washerwoman, to herself, whenshe was reckoning up the expenses of the day, "to buy my coal and paymy rent till spring, so I can save my old bones a bit. And sure Johncan't grumble at their staying now, for it's all along of keeping themthat I had such a blessed Christmas day at all."

Every morning for a week before Christmas, Mother Moon used to call allthe little stars around her and tell them a story.

It was always the same story, but the stars never wearied of it. It wasthe story of the Christmas star--the Star of Bethlehem.

When Mother Moon had finished the story the little stars always said:"And the star is shining still, isn't it, Mother Moon, even if we can'tsee it?"

And Mother Moon would answer: "Yes, my dears, only now it shines formen's hearts instead of their eyes."

Then the stars would bid the Mother Moon good-night and put on theirlittle blue nightcaps and go to bed in the sky chamber; for the stars'bedtime is when people down on the earth are beginning to waken and seethat it is morning.

But that particular morning when the little stars said good-night andwent quietly away, one golden star still lingered beside Mother Moon.

"Oh, Mother Moon," said the golden star. "I am so sad! I wish I couldshine for some one's heart like that star of wonder that you tell usabout."

"Why, aren't you happy up here in the sky country?" asked Mother Moon.

"Yes, I have been very happy," said the star; "but to-night it seemsjust as if I must find some heart to shine for."

"Then if that is so," said Mother Moon, "the time has come, my littlestar, for you to go through the Wonder Entry."

"The Wonder Entry? What is that?" asked the star. But the Mother Moonmade no answer.

Rising, she took the little star by the hand and led it to a door thatit had never seen before.

The Mother Moon opened the door, and there was a long dark entry; atthe far end was shining a little speck of light.

"What is this?" asked the star.

"It is the Wonder Entry; and it is through this that you must go tofind the heart where you belong," said the Mother Moon.

Then the little star was afraid.

It longed to go through the entry as it had never longed for anythingbefore; and yet it was afraid and clung to the Mother Moon.

But very gently, almost sadly, the Mother Moon drew her hand away. "Go,my child," she said.

Then, wondering and trembling, the little star stepped into the WonderEntry, and the door of the sky house closed behind it.

The next thing the star knew it was hanging in a toy shop with a wholerow of other stars blue and red and silver. It itself was gold. Theshop smelled of evergreen, and was full of Christmas shoppers, men andwomen and children; but of them all, the star looked at no one but alittle boy standing in front of the counter; for as soon as the starsaw the child it knew that he was the one to whom it belonged.

The little boy was standing beside a sweet-faced woman in a long blackveil and he was not looking at anything in particular.

The star shook and trembled on the string that held it, because it wasafraid lest the child would not see it, or lest, if he did, he wouldnot know it as his star.

The lady had a number of toys on the counter before her, and she wassaying: "Now I think we have presents for every one: There's the dollfor Lou, and the game for Ned, and the music box for May; and then therocking horse and the sled."

Suddenly the little boy caught her by the arm. "Oh, mother," he said.He had seen the star.

"Well, what is it, darling?" asked the lady.

"Oh, mother, just see that star up there! I wish--oh, I do wish I hadit."

"Oh, my dear, we have so many things for the Christmas-tree," said themother.

"Yes, I know, but I do want the star," said the child.

"Very well," said the mother, smiling; "then we will take that, too."

So the star was taken down from the place where it hung and wrapped upin a piece of paper, and all the while it thrilled with joy, for now itbelonged to the little boy.

It was not until the afternoon before Christmas, when the tree wasbeing decorated, that the golden star was unwrapped and taken out fromthe paper.

"Here is something else," said the sweet-faced lady. "We must hang thison the tree. Paul took such a fancy to it that I had to get it for him.He will never be satisfied unless we hang it on too."

"Oh, yes," said some one else who was helping to decorate the tree; "wewill hang it here on the very top."

So the little star hung on the highest branch of the Christmas-tree.

That evening all the candles were lighted on the Christmas-tree, andthere were so many that they fairly dazzled the eyes; and the gold andsilver balls, the fairies and the glass fruits, shone and twinkled inthe light; and high above them all shone the golden star.

At seven o'clock a bell was rung, and then the folding doors of theroom where the Christmas-tree stood were thrown open, and a crowd ofchildren came trooping in.

They laughed and shouted and pointed, and all talked together, andafter a while there was music, and presents were taken from the treeand given to the children.

How different it all was from the great wide, still sky house!

But the star had never been so happy in all its life; for the littleboy was there.

He stood apart from the other children, looking up at the star, withhis hands clasped behind him, and he did not seem to care for the toysand the games.

At last it was all over. The lights were put out, the children wenthome, and the house grew still.

Then the ornaments on the tree began to talk among themselves.

"So that is all over," said a silver ball. "It was very gay thisevening--the gayest Christmas I remember."

"Yes," said a glass bunch of grapes; "the best of it is over. Of coursepeople will come to look at us for several days yet, but it won't belike this evening."

"And then I suppose we'll be laid away for another year," said a paperfairy. "Really it seems hardly worth while. Such a few days out of theyear and then to be shut up in the dark box again. I almost wish I werea paper doll."

The bunch of grapes was wrong in saying that people would come to lookat the Christmas-tree the next few days, for it stood neglected in thelibrary and nobody came near it. Everybody in the house went about veryquietly, with anxious faces; for the little boy was ill.

At last, one evening, a woman came into the room with a servant. Thewoman wore the cap and apron of a nurse.

"That is it," she said, pointing to the golden star. The servantclimbed up on some steps and took down the star and put it in thenurse's hand, and she carried it out into the hall and upstairs to aroom where the little boy lay.

The sweet-faced lady was sitting by the bed, and as the nurse came inshe held out her hand for the star.

"Is this what you wanted, my darling?" she asked, bending over thelittle boy.

The child nodded and held out his hands for the star; and as he claspedit a wonderful, shining smile came over his face.

The next morning the little boy's room was very still and dark.

The golden piece of paper that had been the star lay on a table besidethe bed, its five points very sharp and bright.

But it was not the real star, any more than a person's body is the realperson.

The real star was living and shining now in the little boy's heart, andit had gone out with him into a new and more beautiful sky country thanit had ever known before--the sky country where the little child angelslive, each one carrying in its heart its own particular star.

XVIII. THE QUEEREST CHRISTMAS*

* This story was first published in the Youth's Companion, vol. 83.

GRACE MARGARET GALLAHER

Betty stood at her door, gazing drearily down the long, empty corridorin which the breakfast gong echoed mournfully. All the usual briskscenes of that hour, groups of girls in Peter Thomson suits or starchedshirt-waists, or a pair of energetic ones, red-cheeked and shining-eyedfrom a run in the snow, had vanished as by the hand of some evilmagician. Silent and lonely was the corridor.

"And it's the day before Christmas!" groaned Betty. Two chill littletears hung on her eyelashes.

The night before, in the excitement of getting the girls off with alltheir trunks and packages intact, she had not realized the homesicknessof the deserted school. Now it seemed to pierce her very bones.

"Oh, dear, why did father have to lose his money? 'Twas easy enoughlast September to decide I wouldn't take the expensive journey homethese holidays, and for all of us to promise we wouldn't give eachother as much as a Christmas card. But now!" The two chill tearsslipped over the edge of her eyelashes. "Well, I know how I'll spendthis whole day; I'll come right up here after breakfast and cry and cryand cry!" Somewhat fortified by this cheering resolve, Betty went tobreakfast.

Whatever the material joys of that meal might be, it certainly was not"a feast of reason and a flow of soul." Betty, whose sense of humournever perished, even in such a frost, looked round the table at theeight grim-faced girls doomed to a Christmas in school, and quotedmischievously to herself: "On with the dance, let joy be unconfined."

Breakfast bolted, she lagged back to her room, stopping to stare out ofthe corridor windows.

She saw nothing of the snowy landscape, however. Instead, a picture,the gayest medley of many colours and figures, danced before her eyes:Christmas-trees thumping in through the door, mysterious bundlesscurried into dark corners, little brothers and sisters flying aboutwith festoons of mistletoe, scarlet ribbon and holly, everywhere soundand laughter and excitement. The motto of Betty's family was: "Never doto-day what you can put off till to-morrow"; therefore the preparationsof a fortnight were always crowded into a day.

The year before, Betty had rushed till her nerves were taut and hertemper snapped, had shaken the twins, raged at the housemaid, and hadgone to bed at midnight weeping with weariness. But in memory only thejoy of the day remained.

"I think I could endure this jail of a school, and not getting onesingle present, but it breaks my heart not to give one least littlething to any one! Why, who ever heard of such a Christmas!"

"Won't you hunt for that blue--"

"Broken my thread again!"

"Give me those scissors!"

Betty jumped out of her day-dream. She had wandered into "Cork" and thethree O'Neills surrounded her, staring.

"I beg your pardon--I heard you--and it was so like home the day beforeChristmas--"

"Did you hear the heathen rage?" cried Katherine.

"Dolls for Aunt Anne's mission," explained Constance.

"You're so forehanded that all your presents went a week ago, Isuppose," Eleanor swept clear a chair. "The clan O'Neill is neverforehanded."

"You'd think I was from the number of thumbs I've grown this morning.Oh, misery!" Eleanor jerked a snarl of thread out on the floor.

Betty had never cared for "Cork" but now the hot worried faces of itsgirls appealed to her. "Let me help. I'm a regular silkworm."

The O'Neills assented with eagerness, and Betty began to sew in acapable, swift way that made the others stare and sigh with relief.

The dolls were many, the O'Neills slow. Betty worked till her feettwitched on the floor; yet she enjoyed the morning, for it held anentirely new sensation, that of helping some one else get ready forChristmas.

"Done!"

"We never should have finished if you hadn't helped! Thank you, BettyLuther, very, VERY much! You're a duck! Let's run to luncheon together,quick."

Somehow the big corridors did not seem half so bleak echoing to thosewarm O'Neill voices.

"This morning's just spun by, but, oh, this long, dreary afternoon!"sighed Betty, as she wandered into the library. "Oh, me, there goesAlice Johns with her arms loaded with presents to mail, and I can'tgive a single soul anything!"

"Do you know where 'Quotations for Occasions' has gone?" Betty turnedto face pretty Rosamond Howitt, the only senior left behind.

"Gone to be rebound. I heard Miss Dyce say so."

"Oh, dear, I needed it so."

"Could I help? I know a lot of rhymes and tags of proverbs and thingslike that."

"Oh, if you would help me, I'd be so grateful! Won't you come to myroom? You see, I promised a friend in town, who is to have a Christmasdinner, and who's been very kind to me, that I'd paint the place cardsand write some quotation appropriate to each guest. I'm shamefully lateover it, my own gifts took such a time; but the painting, at least, isdone."

Rosamond led the way to her room, and there displayed the cards whichshe had painted.

"You can't think of my helplessness! If it were a Greek verb now, or alost and strayed angle--but poetry!"

Betty trotted back and forth between the room and the library, delvedinto books, and even evolved a verse which she audaciously tagged "oldplay," in imitation of Sir Walter Scott.

"I think they are really and truly very bright, and I know Mrs. Fernellwill be delighted." Rosamond wrapped up the cards carefully. "I can'tbegin to tell you how you've helped me. It was sweet in you to give meyour whole afternoon."

The dinner-bell rang at that moment, and the two went down together.

"Come for a little run; I haven't been out all day," whisperedRosamond, slipping her hand into Betty's as they left the table.

A great round moon swung cold and bright over the pines by the lodge.

"Down the road a bit--just a little way--to the church," suggestedBetty.

They stepped out into the silent country road.

"Why, the little mission is as gay as--as Christmas! I wonder why?"

Betty glanced at the bright windows of the small plain church. "Oh,some Christmas-eve doings," she answered.

Some one stepped quickly out from the church door.

"Oh, Miss Vernon, I am relieved! I had begun to fear you could notcome."

The girls saw it was the tall old rector, his white hair shining silverbright in the moonbeams.

"We're just two girls from the school, sir," said Rosamond.

"Dear, dear!" His voice was both impatient and distressed. "I hoped youwere my organist. We are all ready for our Christmas-eve service, butwe can do nothing without the music."

No vested choir stood ready to march triumphantly chanting into thechoir stalls. Only a few boys and girls waited in the dim old choirloft, where Rosamond seated herself quietly.

Betty's fingers trembled so at first that the music sounded dull andfar away; but her courage crept back to her in the silence of thechurch, and the organ seemed to help her with a brave power of its own.In the dark church only the altar and a great gold star above it shonebright. Through an open window somewhere behind her she could hear thewinter wind rattling the ivy leaves and bending the trees. Yet,somehow, she did not feel lonesome and forsaken this Christmas eve, faraway from home, but safe and comforted and sheltered. The voice of theold rector reached her faintly in pauses; habit led her along theservice, and the star at the altar held her eyes.

Strange new ideas and emotions flowed in upon her brain. Tears stolesoftly into her eyes, yet she felt in her heart a sweet glow. Slowlythe Christmas picture that had flamed and danced before her all day,painted in the glory of holly and mistletoe and tinsel, faded out, andanother shaped itself, solemn and beautiful in the altar light.

"My dear child, I thank you very much!" The old rector held Betty'shand in both his. "I cannot have a Christmas morning service--ourpeople have too much to do to come then--but I was especially anxiousthat our evening service should have some message, some inspiration forthem, and your music has made it so. You have given me great aid. Mayyour Christmas be a blessed one."

"I was glad to play, sir. Thank you!" answered Betty, simply.

"Let's run!" she cried to Rosamond, and they raced back to school.

She fell asleep that night without one smallest tear.

The next morning Betty dressed hastily, and catching up her mandolin,set out into the corridor.

Something swung against her hand as she opened the door. It was a greatbunch of holly, glossy green leaves and glowing berries, and hidden inthe leaves a card: "Betty, Merry Christmas," was all, but only one girlwrote that dainty hand.

"A winter rose," whispered Betty, happily, and stuck the bunch into theribbon of her mandolin.

Down the corridor she ran until she faced a closed door. Then, twangingher mandolin, she burst out with all her power into a gay Christmascarol. High and sweet sang her voice in the silent corridor all throughthe gay carol. Then, sweeter still, it changed into a Christmas hymn.Then from behind the closed doors sounded voices:

"Merry Christmas, Betty Luther!"

Then Constance O'Neill's deep, smooth alto flowed into Betty's soprano;and at the last all nine girls joined in "Adeste Fideles." Christmasmorning began with music and laughter.

"This is your place, Betty. You are lord of Christmas morning."

Betty stood, blushing, red as the holly in her hand, before thebreakfast table. Miss Hyle, the teacher at the head of the table, hadgiven up her place.

The breakfast was a merry one. After it somebody suggested that theyall go skating on the pond.

Betty hesitated and glanced at Miss Hyle and Miss Thrasher, the twosad-looking teachers.

She approached them and said, "Won't you come skating, too?"

Miss Thrasher, hardly older than Betty herself, and pretty in a whitefrightened way, refused, but almost cheerfully. "I have a Christmas boxto open and Christmas letters to write. Thank you very much."

Miss Hyle was the most unpopular teacher in school. Neitherill-tempered nor harsh, she was so cold, remote and rigid in face,voice, and manner that the warmest blooded shivered away from her, theleast sensitive shrank.

"I have no skates, but I should like to borrow a pair to learn, if Imay. I have never tried," she said.

The tragedies of a beginner on skates are to the observers, especiallyif such be school-girls, subjects for unalloyed mirth. The nine girlschoked and turned their backs and even giggled aloud as Miss Hyle wentprone, now backward with a whack, now forward in a limp crumple.

But amusement became admiration. Miss Hyle stumbled, fell, laughedmerrily, scrambled up, struck out, and skated. Presently she wasswinging up the pond in stroke with Betty and Eleanor O'Neill.

"Miss Hyle, you're great!" cried Betty, at the end of the morning."I've taught dozens and scores to skate, but never anybody like you.You've a genius for skating."

Miss Hyle's blue eyes shot a sudden flash at Betty that made her wholesevere face light up. "I've never had a chance to learn--at home therenever is any ice--but I have always been athletic."

"No, he won't. He won't care whether it's Hilma or Betty, if things getdone all right. I know how to wait on table and wash dishes. There's nohousekeeper here to object. Run along, Hilma; be back by nineo'clock--and--Merry Christmas!"

Hilma's face beamed through her tears. She was speechless with joy, butshe seized Betty's slim brown hand and kissed it loudly.

"What larks!" "Is it a joke?" "Betty, you're the handsomest butler!"

Betty, in a white shirt-waist suit, a jolly red bow pinned on her whiteapron, and a little cap cocked on her dark hair, waved them to theirseats at the holly-decked table.

"Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!"

"Nobody is ill, Betty?" Rosamond asked, anxiously.

"If I had three guesses, I should use every one that our maid wanted togo into town for the day, and Betty took her place." It was Miss Hyle'scalm voice.

Betty blushed. It was her turn now to flash back a glance; and thosetwo sparks kindled the fire of friendship.

It was a jolly Christmas dinner, with the "butler" eating with thefamily.

"And now the dishes!" thought Betty. It must be admitted the "washingup" after a Christmas dinner of twelve is not a subject for much joy.

"I propose we all help Betty wash the dishes!" cried Rosamond Howitt.

Out in the kitchen every one laughed and talked and got in the way, andhad a good time; and if the milk pitcher was knocked on the floor andthe pudding bowl emptied in Betty's lap--why, it was all "MerryChristmas."

After that they all skated again. When they came in, little MissThrasher, looking almost gay in a rose-red gown, met them in thecorridor.

"I thought it would be fun," she said, shyly, "to have supper in myroom. I have a big box from home. I couldn't possible eat all thethings myself, and if you'll bring chafing-dishes and spoons, and thosethings, I'll cook it, and we can sit round my open fire."

Miss Thrasher's room was homelike, with its fire of white-birch and itseasy chairs, and Miss Thrasher herself proved to be a pleasant hostess.

After supper Miss Hyle told a tale of India, Miss Thrasher gave a RockyMountain adventure, and the girls contributed ghost and burglar storiestill each guest was in a thrill of delightful horror.

Betty gave a little jump; she realized each one of them was holding herhand and pressing it a little. "Thank you, it's been a lovely evening.Goodnight."

Rosamond had invited Betty to share her roommate's bed, but both girlswere too tired and sleepy for any confidence.

"It's been the queerest Christmas!" thought Betty, as she driftedtoward sleep. "Why, I haven't given one single soul one single present!"

Yet she smiled, drowsily happy, and then the room seemed to fill with abright, warm light, and round the bed there danced a great Christmaswreath, made up of the faces of the three O'Neills, and the thin oldrector, with his white hair, and pretty Rosamond, and frightened MissThrasher and the homesick girls, and lonely Miss Hyle, and tear-dimmedHilma.

And all the faces smiled and nodded, and called, "Merry Christmas,Betty, Merry Christmas!"

XIX. OLD FATHER CHRISTMAS

J.H. EWING

"The custom of Christmas-trees came from Germany. I can remember whenthey were first introduced into England, and what wonderful things wethought them. Now, every village school has its tree, and the scholarsopenly discuss whether the presents have been 'good,' or 'mean,' ascompared with other trees in former years. The first one that I eversaw I believed to have come from Good Father Christmas himself; butlittle boys have grown too wise now to be taken in for their ownamusement. They are not excited by secret and mysterious preparationsin the back drawing-room; they hardly confess to the thrill--which Ifeel to this day--when the folding doors are thrown open, and amid theblaze of tapers, mamma, like a Fate, advances with her scissors to giveevery one what falls to his lot.

"Well, young people, when I was eight years old I had not seen aChristmas-tree, and the first picture of one I ever saw was the pictureof that held by Old Father Christmas in my godmother's picture-book.

'"What are those things on the tree?' I asked.

"'Candles,' said my father.

"'No, father, not the candles; the other things?'

"'Those are toys, my son.'

"'Are they ever taken off?'

"'Yes, they are taken off, and given to the children who stand aroundthe tree.'

"Patty and I grasped each other by the hand, and with one voicemurmured; 'How kind of Old Father Christmas!'

"By and by I asked, 'How old is Father Christmas?'

"My father laughed, and said, 'One thousand eight hundred and thirtyyears, child,' which was then the year of our Lord, and thus onethousand eight hundred and thirty years since the first great ChristmasDay.

"'He LOOKS very old,' whispered Patty.

"And I, who was, for my age, what Kitty called 'Bible-learned,' saidthoughtfully, and with some puzzledness of mind, 'Then he's older thanMethuselah.'

"But my father had left the room, and did not hear my difficulty.

"November and December went by, and still the picture-book kept all itscharm for Patty and me; and we pondered on and loved Old FatherChristmas as children can love and realize a fancy friend. To those whoremember the fancies of their childhood I need say no more.

"Christmas week came, Christmas Eve came. My father and mother weremysteriously and unaccountably busy in the parlour (we had only oneparlour), and Patty and I were not allowed to go in. We went into thekitchen, but even here was no place of rest for as. Kitty was 'all overthe place,' as she phrased it, and cakes, mince pies, and puddings werewith her. As she justly observed, 'There was no place there forchildren and books to sit with their toes in the fire, when a bodywanted to be at the oven all along. The cat was enough for HER temper,'she added.

"As to puss, who obstinately refused to take a hint which drove her outinto the Christmas frost, she returned again and again with soft steps,and a stupidity that was, I think, affected, to the warm hearth, onlyto fly at intervals, like a football, before Kitty's hasty slipper.

"We had more sense, or less courage. We bowed to Kitty's behests, andwent to the back door.

"Patty and I were hardy children, and accustomed to 'run out' in allweathers, without much extra wrapping up. We put Kitty's shawl over ourtwo heads, and went outside. I rather hoped to see something of Dick,for it was holiday time; but no Dick passed. He was busy helping hisfather to bore holes in the carved seats of the church, which were tohold sprigs of holly for the morrow--that was the idea of churchdecoration in my young days. You have improved on your elders there,young people, and I am candid enough to allow it. Still, the sprigs ofred and green were better than nothing, and, like your lovely wreathsand pious devices, they made one feel as if the old black wood werebursting into life and leaf again for very Christmas joy; and, if onlyone knelt carefully, they did not scratch his nose.

"Well, Dick was busy, and not to be seen. We ran across the little yardand looked over the wall at the end to see if we could see anything oranybody. From this point there was a pleasant meadow field slopingprettily away to a little hill about three quarters of a mile distant;which, catching some fine breezes from the moors beyond, was held to bea place of cure for whooping-cough, or kincough, as it was vulgarlycalled. Up to the top of this Kitty had dragged me, and carried Patty,when we were recovering from the complaint, as I well remember. It wasthe only 'change of air' we could afford, and I dare say it did as wellas if we had gone into badly drained lodgings at the seaside.

"This hill was now covered with snow and stood off against the graysky. The white fields looked vast and dreary in the dusk. The only gaythings to be seen were the berries on the holly hedge, in the littlelane--which, running by the end of our back-yard, led up to theHall--and the fat robin, that was staring at me. I was looking at therobin, when Patty, who had been peering out of her corner of Kitty'sshawl, gave a great jump that dragged the shawl from our heads, andcried:

"'Look!'

"I looked. An old man was coming along the lane. His hair and beardwere as white as cotton-wool. He had a face like the sort of apple thatkeeps well in winter; his coat was old and brown. There was snow abouthim in patches, and he carried a small fir-tree.

"The same conviction seized upon us both. With one breath, weexclaimed, 'IT'S OLD FATHER CHRISTMAS!'

"I know now that it was only an old man of the place, with whom we didnot happen to be acquainted and that he was taking a little fir-tree upto the Hall, to be made into a Christmas-tree. He was a verygood-humoured old fellow, and rather deaf, for which he made up bysmiling and nodding his head a good deal, and saying, 'aye, aye, to besure!' at likely intervals.

"As he passed us and met our earnest gaze, he smiled and nodded soearnestly that I was bold enough to cry, 'Good-evening, FatherChristmas!'

"'Same to you!' said he, in a high-pitched voice.

"'Then you ARE Father Christmas?' said Patty.

"'And a happy New Year,' was Father Christmas's reply, which rather putme out. But he smiled in such a satisfactory manner that Patty went on,'You're very old, aren't you?'

"I could feel Patty trembling, and my own heart beat fast. The thoughtwhich agitated us both was this: 'Was Father Christmas bringing thetree to us?' But very anxiety, and some modesty also, kept us fromasking outright.

"Only when the old man shouldered his tree, and prepared to move on, Icried in despair, 'Oh, are you going?'

"'I'm coming back by and by,' said he.

"'How soon?' cried Patty.

"'About four o'clock,' said the old man smiling. 'I'm only going upyonder.'

"'Up yonder!' This puzzled us. Father Christmas had pointed, but soindefinitely that he might have been pointing to the sky, or thefields, or the little wood at the end of the Squire's grounds. Ithought the latter, and suggested to Patty that perhaps he had someplace underground like Aladdin's cave, where he got the candles, andall the pretty things for the tree. This idea pleased us both, and weamused ourselves by wondering what Old Father Christmas would choosefor us from his stores in that wonderful hole where he dressed hisChristmas-trees.

"'I wonder, Patty,' said I, 'why there's no picture of FatherChristmas's dog in the book.' For at the old man's heels in the lanethere crept a little brown and white spaniel looking very dirty in thesnow.

"'Perhaps it's a new dog that he's got to take care of his cave,' saidPatty.

"When we went indoors we examined the picture afresh by the dim lightfrom the passage window, but there was no dog there.

"My father passed us at this moment, and patted my head. 'Father,' saidI, 'I don't know, but I do think Old Father Christmas is going to bringus a Christmas-tree to-night.'

"'Who's been telling you that?' said my father.

But he passed on before I could explain that we had seen FatherChristmas himself, and had had his word for it that he would return atfour o'clock, and that the candles on his tree would be lighted as soonas it was dark.

"We hovered on the outskirts of the rooms till four o'clock came. Wesat on the stairs and watched the big clock, which I was just learningto read; and Patty made herself giddy with constantly looking up andcounting the four strokes, toward which the hour hand slowly moved. Weput our noses into the kitchen now and then, to smell the cakes and getwarm, and anon we hung about the parlour door, and were most unjustlyaccused of trying to peep. What did we care what our mother was doingin the parlour?--we, who had seen Old Father Christmas himself, andwere expecting him back again every moment!

"At last the church clock struck. The sounds boomed heavily through thefrost, and Patty thought there were four of them. Then, after duechoking and whirring, our own clock struck, and we counted the strokesquite clearly--one! two! three! four! Then we got Kitty's shawl oncemore, and stole out into the backyard. We ran to our old place, andpeeped, but could see nothing.

"'We'd better get up on to the wall,' I said; and with some difficultyand distress from rubbing her bare knees against the cold stone, andgetting the snow up her sleeves, Patty got on to the coping of thelittle wall. I was just struggling after her, when something warm andsomething cold coming suddenly against the bare calves of my legs mademe shriek with fright. I came down 'with a run' and bruised my knees,my elbows, and my chin; and the snow that hadn't gone up Patty'ssleeves went down my neck. Then I found that the cold thing was a dog'snose and the warm thing was his tongue; and Patty cried from her postof observation, 'It's Father Christmas's dog and he's licking yourlegs.'

"It really was the dirty little brown and white spaniel, and hepersisted in licking me, and jumping on me, and making curious littlenoises, that must have meant something if one had known his language. Iwas rather harassed at the moment. My legs were sore, I was a littleafraid of the dog, and Patty was very much afraid of sitting on thewall without me.

'"You won't fall,' I said to her. 'Get down, will you?' I said to thedog.

"'Humpty Dumpty fell off a wall,' said Patty.

"'Bow! wow!' said the dog.

"I pulled Patty down, and the dog tried to pull me down; but when mylittle sister was on her feet, to my relief, he transferred hisattentions to her. When he had jumped at her, and licked her severaltimes, he turned around and ran away.

"'He's gone,' said I; 'I'm so glad.'

"But even as I spoke he was back again, crouching at Patty's feet, andglaring at her with eyes the colour of his ears.

"Now, Patty was very fond of animals, and when the dog looked at hershe looked at the dog, and then she said to me, 'He wants us to go withhim.'

"On which (as if he understood our language, though we were ignorant ofhis) the spaniel sprang away, and went off as hard as he could; andPatty and I went after him, a dim hope crossing my mind--'PerhapsFather Christmas has sent him for us.'

"The idea was rather favoured by the fact he led us up the lane. Only alittle way; then he stopped by something lying in the ditch--and oncemore we cried in the same breath, 'It's Old Father Christmas!'

"Returning from the Hall, the old man had slipped upon a bit of ice,and lay stunned in the snow.

"Patty began to cry. 'I think he's dead!' she sobbed.

"'He is so very old, I don't wonder,' I murmured; 'but perhaps he'snot. I'll fetch father.'

"My father and Kitty were soon on the spot. Kitty was as strong as aman; and they carried Father Christmas between them into the kitchen.There he quickly revived.

"I must do Kitty the justice to say that she did not utter a word ofcomplaint at the disturbance of her labours; and that she drew the oldman's chair close up to the oven with her own hand. She was so muchaffected by the behaviour of his dog that she admitted him even to thehearth; on which puss, being acute enough to see how matters stood, laydown with her back so close to the spaniel's that Kitty could not expelone without kicking both.

"For our parts, we felt sadly anxious about the tree; otherwise wecould have wished for no better treat than to sit at Kitty's roundtable taking tea with Father Christmas. Our usual fare of thick breadand treacle was to-night exchanged for a delicious variety of cakes,which were none the worse to us for being 'tasters and wasters'--thatis, little bits of dough, or shortbread, put in to try the state of theoven, and certain cakes that had got broken or burnt in the baking.

"Well, there we sat, helping Old Father Christmas to tea and cake, andwondering in our hearts what could have become of the tree.

"Patty and I felt a delicacy in asking Old Father Christmas about thetree. It was not until we had had tea three times round, with tastersand wasters to match, that Patty said very gently: 'It's quite darknow.' And then she heaved a deep sigh.

"Burning anxiety overcame me. I leaned toward Father Christmas, andshouted--I had found out that it was needful to shout--"'I suppose thecandles are on the tree now?'

"'Just about putting of 'em on,' said Father Christmas.

"'And the presents, too?' said Patty.

"'Aye, aye, TO be sure,' said Father Christmas, and he smileddelightfully.

"I was thinking what further questions I might venture upon, when hepushed his cup toward Patty saying, 'Since you are so pressing, miss,I'll take another dish.'

"And Kitty, swooping on us from the oven, cried, 'Make yourself athome, sir; there's more where these came from. Make a long arm, MissPatty, and hand them cakes.'

"So we had to devote ourselves to the duties of the table; and Patty,holding the lid with one hand and pouring with the other, suppliedFather Christmas's wants with a heavy heart.

"At last he was satisfied. I said grace, during which he stood, and,indeed, he stood for some time afterward with his eyes shut--I fancyunder the impression that I was still speaking. He had just said afervent 'amen,' and reseated himself, when my father put his head intothe kitchen, and made this remarkable statement:

"'Old Father Christmas has sent a tree to the young people.'

"Patty and I uttered a cry of delight, and we forthwith danced roundthe old man, saying, 'How nice; Oh, how kind of you!' which I thinkmust have bewildered him, but he only smiled and nodded.

"My godmother's picture of a Christmas-tree was very pretty; and theflames of the candles were so naturally done in red and yellow that Ialways wondered that they did not shine at night. But the picture wasnothing to the reality. We had been sitting almost in the dark, for, asKitty said, 'Firelight was quite enough to burn at meal-times.' Andwhen the parlour door was thrown open, and the tree, with lightedtapers on all the branches, burst upon our view, the blaze wasdazzling, and threw such a glory round the little gifts, and the bagsof coloured muslin, with acid drops and pink rose drops and comfitsinside, as I shall never forget. We all got something; and Patty and I,at any rate, believed that the things came from the stores of OldFather Christmas. We were not undeceived even by his gratefullyaccepting a bundle of old clothes which had been hastily put togetherto form his present.

"We were all very happy; even Kitty, I think, though she kept hersleeves rolled up, and seemed rather to grudge enjoying herself (a weakpoint in some energetic characters). She went back to her oven beforethe lights were out and the angel on the top of the tree taken down.She locked up her present (a little work-box) at once. She often showedit off afterward, but it was kept in the same bit of tissue paper tillshe died. Our presents certainly did not last so long!

"The old man died about a week afterward, so we never made hisacquaintance as a common personage. When he was buried, his little dogcame to us. I suppose he remembered the hospitality he had received.Patty adopted him, and he was very faithful. Puss always looked on himwith favour. I hoped during our rambles together in the followingsummer that he would lead us at last to the cave where Christmas-treesare dressed. But he never did.

"Our parents often spoke of his late master as 'old Reuben,' butchildren are not easily disabused of a favourite fancy, and in Patty'sthoughts and in mine the old man was long gratefully remembered as OldFather Christmas."

XX. A CHRISTMAS CAROL

CHARLES DICKENS

Master Peter, and the two ubiquitous young Cratchits went to fetch thegoose, with which they soon returned in high procession.

Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest ofall birds; a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan was a matterof course--and in truth it was something very like it in that house.Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan)hissing hot; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigour;Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple-sauce; Martha dusted the hotplates; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; thetwo young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgettingthemselves, and mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons intotheir mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn cameto be helped. At last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. Itwas succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowlyall along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; butwhen she did, and when the long expected gush of stuffing issued forth,one murmur of delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim,excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handleof his knife, and feebly cried Hurrah!

There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe there ever wassuch a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness,were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by the apple-sauceand mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family;indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one smallatom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn't ate it all at last! Yetevery one had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits in particular,were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows! But now, the platesbeing changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone--toonervous to bear witnesses--to take the pudding up and bring it in.

Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it should break inturning out. Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of theback-yard and stolen it, while they were merry with the goose--asupposition at which the two young Cratchits became livid! All sorts ofhorrors were supposed.

Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. Asmell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like aneating-house and a pastrycook's next door to each other, with alaundress's next door to that! That was the pudding! In half a minuteMrs. Cratchit entered--flushed, but smiling proudly--with the pudding,like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half ofhalf-a-quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight with Christmas hollystuck into the top.

Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that heregarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit sincetheir marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that now the weight was off hermind, she would confess she had had her doubts about the quantity offlour. Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said orthought it was at all a small pudding for a large family. It would havebeen, flat heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint atsuch a thing.

At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearthswept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted, andconsidered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and ashovel-full of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family drewround the hearth, in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half aone; and at Bob Cratchit's elbow stood the family display of glasses.Two tumblers, and a custard-cup without a handle.

These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as goldengoblets would have done; and Bob served it out with beaming looks,while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then Bobproposed:

There were twenty-six flat children, and none of them had ever beenflat children until that year. Previously they had all been homechildren. and as such had, of course, had beautiful Christmases, inwhich their relations with Santa Claus had been of the most intimateand personal nature.

Now, owing to their residence in the Santa Maria flats, and the Lease,all was changed. The Lease was a strange forbiddance, a ukase issued bya tyrant, which took from children their natural liberties and rights.

Though, to be sure--as every one of the flat children knew--they werein the greatest kind of luck to be allowed to live at all, andespecially were they fortunate past the lot of children to be permittedto live in a flat. There were many flats in the great city, so polishedand carved and burnished and be-lackeyed that children were not allowedto enter within the portals, save on visits of ceremony in charge ofparents or governesses. And in one flat, where Cecil de Koven le Baronwas born--just by accident and without intending any harm--he wasevicted, along with his parents, by the time he reached the age wherehe seemed likely to be graduated from the go-cart. And yet that flathad not nearly so imposing a name as the Santa Maria.

The twenty-six children of the Santa Maria flats belonged to twentyfamilies. All of these twenty families were peculiar, as you mightlearn any day by interviewing the families concerning one another. Butthey bore with each other's peculiarities quite cheerfully and spoke inthe hall when they met. Sometimes this tolerance would even extend toconversation about the janitor, a thin creature who did the work offive men. The ladies complained that he never smiled.

"I wouldn't so much mind the hot water pipes leaking now and then," theladies would remark in the vestibule, rustling their skirts to showthat they wore silk petticoats, "if only the janitor would smile. Buthe looks like a cemetery."

"I know it," would be the response. "I told Mr. Wilberforce last nightthat if he would only get a cheerful janitor I wouldn't mind our havingrubber instead of Axminster on the stairs."

"You know we were promised Axminster when we moved in," would be theplaintive response. The ladies would stand together for a momentwrapped in gloomy reflection, and then part.

The kitchen and nurse maids felt on the subject, too.

"If Carl Carlsen would only smile," they used to exclaim in sibilantwhispers, as they passed on the way to the laundry. "If he'd come inan' joke while we wus washin'!"

Only Kara Johnson never said anything on the subject because she knewwhy Carlsen didn't smile, and was sorry for it, and would have made itall right--if it hadn't been for Lars Larsen.

Dear, dear, but this is a digression from the subject of the Lease.That terrible document was held over the heads of the children as theHerodian pronunciamento concerning small boys was over the heads of theIsraelites.

It was in the Lease not to run--not to jump--not to yell. It was in theLease not to sing in the halls, not to call from story to story, not toslide down the banisters. And there were blocks of banisters so smoothand wide and beautiful that the attraction between them and the seatsof the little boy's trousers was like the attraction of a magnet for anail. Yet not a leg, crooked or straight, fat or thin, was ever to bethrown over these polished surfaces!

It was in the Lease, too, that no peddler or agent, or suspiciousstranger was to enter the Santa Maria, neither by the front door northe back. The janitor stood in his uniform at the rear, and the lackeyin his uniform at the front, to prevent any such intrusion upon theprivacy of the aristocratic Santa Marias. The lackey, who politelydirected people, and summoned elevators, and whistled up tubes and rangbells, thus conducting the complex social life of those favouredapartments, was not one to make a mistake, and admit any person notcalculated to ornament the front parlours of the flatters.

It was this that worried the children.

For how could such a dear, disorderly, democratic rascal as thechildren's saint ever hope to gain a pass to that exclusive entranceand get up to the rooms of the flat children?

"You can see for yourself," said Ernest, who lived on the first floor,to Roderick who lived on the fourth, "that if Santa Claus can't get upthe front stairs, and can't get up the back stairs, that all he can dois to come down the chimney. And he can't come down the chimney--atleast, he can't get out of the fireplace."

"Why not?" asked Roderick, who was busy with an "all-day sucker" andnot inclined to take a gloomy view of anything.

"Goosey!" cried Ernest, in great disdain. "I'll show you!" and he ledRoderick, with his sucker, right into the best parlour, where thefireplace was, and showed him an awful thing.

Of course, to the ordinary observer, there was nothing awful about thefireplace. Everything in the way of bric-a-brac possessed by the SantaMaria flatters was artistic. It may have been in the Lease that onlypeople with esthetic tastes were to be admitted to the apartments.However that may be, the fireplace, with its vases and pictures andtrinkets, was something quite wonderful. Indian incense burned in amysterious little dish, pictures of purple ladies were hung in oddcorners, calendars in letters nobody could read, served to decorate, ifnot to educate, and glass vases of strange colours and extraordinaryshapes stood about filled with roses. None of these things were awful.At least no one would have dared say they were. But what was awful wasthe formation of the grate. It was not a hospitable place withandirons, where noble logs of wood could be laid for the burning, nordid it have a generous iron basket where honest anthracite could glowaway into the nights. Not a bit of it. It held a vertical plate ofstuff that looked like dirty cotton wool, on which a tiny blue flameleaped when the gas was turned on and ignited.

"You can see for yourself!" said Ernest tragically.

Roderick could see for himself. There was an inch-wide opening downwhich the Friend of the Children could squeeze himself, and, aseverybody knows, he needs a good deal of room now, for he has grownportly with age, and his pack every year becomes bigger, owing to theever-increasing number of girls and boys he has to supply

"Gimini!" said Roderick, and dropped his all-day sucker on the oldBokara rug that Ernest's mamma had bought the week before at afashionable furnishing shop, and which had given the sore throat to allthe family, owing to some cunning little germs that had come over withthe rug to see what American throats were like.

Oh, me, yes! but Roderick could see! Anybody could see! And a boy couldsee better than anybody.

"Let's go see the Telephone Boy," said Roderick. This seemed the wisestthing to do. When in doubt, all the children went to the Telephone Boy,who was the most fascinating person, with knowledge of the mostwonderful kind and of a nature to throw that of Mrs. Scheherazadequite, quite in the shade--which, considering how long that loquaciouslady had been a Shade, is perhaps not surprising.

The Telephone Boy knew the answers to all the conundrums in the world,and a way out of nearly all troubles such as are likely to overtakeboys and girls. But now he had no suggestions to offer and could speakno comfortable words.

"He can't git inter de front, an' he can't git inter de back, an' hecan't come down no chimney in dis here house, an' I tell yer dose," hesaid, and shut his mouth grimly, while cold apprehension crept aroundErnest's heart and took the sweetness out of Roderick's sucker.

Nevertheless, hope springs eternal, and the boys each and individuallyasked their fathers--tremendously wise and good men--if they thoughtthere was any hope that Santa Claus would get into the Santa Mariaflats, and each of the fathers looked up from his paper and said he'dbe blessed if he did!

And the words sunk deep and deep and drew the tears when the doors wereclosed and the soft black was all about and nobody could laugh becausea boy was found crying! The girls cried too--for the awful news waswhistled up tubes and whistled down tubes, till all the twenty-six flatchildren knew about it. The next day it was talked over in the brickcourt, where the children used to go to shout and race. But on this daythere was neither shouting nor racing. There was, instead, a shaking ofheads, a surreptitious dropping of tears, a guessing and protesting andlamenting. All the flat mothers congratulated themselves on the factthat their children were becoming so quiet and orderly, and wonderedwhat could have come over them when they noted that they neglected torun after the patrol wagon as it whizzed round the block.

It was decided, after a solemn talk, that every child should go to itsown fireplace and investigate. In the event of any fireplace beingfound with an opening big enough to admit Santa Claus, a note could beleft directing him along the halls to the other apartments. A spirit ofuniversal brotherhood had taken possession of the Santa Maria flatters.Misery bound them together. But the investigation proved to bedisheartening. The cruel asbestos grates were everywhere. Hope laystrangled!

As time went on, melancholy settled upon the flat children. The parentsnoted it, and wondered if there could be sewer gas in the apartments.One over-anxious mother called in a physician, who gave the poor littlechild some medicine which made it quite ill. No one suspected thetruth, though the children were often heard to say that it was evidentthat there was to be no Christmas for them! But then, what more naturalfor a child to say, thus hoping to win protestations--so the mothersreasoned, and let the remark pass.

The day before Christmas was gray and dismal. There was nowind--indeed, there was a sort of tightness in the air, as if thesupply of freshness had given out. People had headaches--even theTelephone Boy was cross--and none of the spirit of the time appeared toenliven the flat children. There appeared to be no stir--no mystery. Nowhisperings went on in the corners--or at least, so it seemed to thesad babies of the Santa Maria.

"It's as plain as a monkey on a hand-organ," said the Telephone Boy tothe attendants at his salon in the basement, "that there ain't to be noChristmas for we--no, not for we!"

Had not Dorothy produced, at this junction, from the folds of herfluffy silken skirts several substantial sticks of gum, there is nosaying to what depths of discouragement the flat children would havefallen!

About six o'clock it seemed as if the children would smother for lackof air! It was very peculiar. Even the janitor noticed it. He spokeabout it to Kara at the head of the back stairs, and she held her handso as to let him see the new silver ring on her fourth finger, and helet go of the rope on the elevator on which he was standing and droppedto the bottom of the shaft, so that Kara sent up a wild hallo of alarm.But the janitor emerged as melancholy and unruffled as ever, onlylooking at his watch to see if it had been stopped by the concussion.

The Telephone Boy, who usually got a bit of something hot sent down tohim from one of the tables, owing to the fact that he never ate anymeal save breakfast at home, was quite forgotten on this day, and dinedoff two russet apples, and drew up his belt to stop the ache--for theTelephone Boy was growing very fast indeed, in spite of his poverty,and couldn't seem to stop growing somehow, although he said to himselfevery day that it was perfectly brutal of him to keep on that way whenhis mother had so many mouths to feed.

Well, well, the tightness of the air got worse. Every one was cross atdinner and complained of feeling tired afterward, and of wanting to goto bed. For all of that it was not to get to sleep, and the childrentossed and tumbled for a long time before they put their little handsin the big, soft shadowy clasp of the Sandman, and trooped away afterhim to the happy town of sleep.

It seemed to the flat children that they had been asleep but a fewmoments when there came a terrible burst of wind that shook even thatgreat house to its foundations. Actually, as they sat up in bed andcalled to their parents or their nurses, their voices seemed smotheredwith roar. Could it be that the wind was a great wild beast with ahundred tongues which licked at the roof of the building? And how manyvoices must it have to bellow as it did?

Sounds of falling glass, of breaking shutters, of crashing chimneysgreeted their ears--not that they knew what all these sounds meant.They only knew that it seemed as if the end of the world had come.Ernest, miserable as he was, wondered if the Telephone Boy had gottensafely home, or if he were alone in the draughty room in the basement;and Roderick hugged his big brother, who slept with him and said, "NowI lay me," three times running, as fast as ever his tongue would say it.

After a terrible time the wind settled down into a steady howl like ahungry wolf, and the children went to sleep, worn out with fright andconscious that the bedclothes could not keep out the cold.

Dawn came. The children awoke, shivering. They sat up in bed and lookedabout them--yes, they did, the whole twenty-six of them in theirdifferent apartments and their different homes. And what do you supposethey saw--what do you suppose the twenty-six flat children saw as theylooked about them?

Why, stockings, stuffed full, and trees hung full, and boxes packedfull! Yes, they did! It was Christmas morning, and the bells wereringing, and all the little flat children were laughing, for SantaClaus had come! He had really come! In the wind and wild weather, whilethe tongues of the wind licked hungrily at the roof, while the windhowled like a hungry wolf, he had crept in somehow and laughing, nodoubt, and chuckling, without question, he had filled the stockings andthe trees and the boxes! Dear me, dear me, but it was a happy time! Itmakes me out of breath to think what a happy time it was, and howsurprised the flat children were, and how they wondered how it couldever have happened.

But they found out, of course! It happened in the simplest way! Everyskylight in the place was blown off and away, and that was how the windhowled so, and how the bedclothes would not keep the children warm, andhow Santa Claus got in. The wind corkscrewed down into these holes, andthe reckless children with their drums and dolls, their guns and toydishes, danced around in the maelstrom and sang:

"Here's where Santa Claus came!This is how he got in-We should count it a sinYes, count it a shame,If it hurt when he fell on the floor."

Roderick's sister, who was clever for a child of her age, and who hadread Monte Cristo ten times, though she was only eleven, wrote thispoem, which every one thought very fine.

And of course all the parents thought and said that Santa Claus musthave jumped down the skylights. By noon there were other skylights putin, and not a sign left of the way he made his entrance--not that theway mattered a bit, no, not a bit.

Perhaps you think the Telephone Boy didn't get anything! Maybe youimagine that Santa Claus didn't get down that far. But you aremistaken. The shaft below one of the skylights went away to the bottomof the building, and it stands to reason that the old fellow must havefallen way through. At any rate there was a copy of "Tom Sawyer," and awhole plum pudding, and a number of other things, more useful but notso interesting, found down in the chilly basement room. There were,indeed.

In closing it is only proper to mention that Kara Johnson crocheted awhite silk four-in-hand necktie for Carl Carlsen, the janitor--and thejanitor smiled!

XX. THE LEGEND OF BABOUSCKA*

*From "The Children's Hour," published by the Milton Bradley Co.

ADAPTED FROM THE RUSSIAN

It was the night the dear Christ-Child came to Bethlehem. In a countryfar away from Him, an old, old woman named Babouscka sat in her snuglittle house by her warm fire. The wind was drifting the snow outsideand howling down the chimney, but it only made Babouscka's fire burnmore brightly.

"How glad I am that I may stay indoors," said Babouscka, holding herhands out to the bright blaze.

But suddenly she heard a loud rap at her door. She opened it and hercandle shone on three old men standing outside in the snow. Theirbeards were as white as the snow, and so long that they reached theground. Their eyes shone kindly in the light of Babouscka's candle, andtheir arms were full of precious things--boxes of jewels, andsweet-smelling oils, and ointments.

"We have travelled far, Babouscka," they said, "and we stop to tell youof the Baby Prince born this night in Bethlehem. He comes to rule theworld and teach all men to be loving and true. We carry Him gifts. Comewith us, Babouscka."

But Babouscka looked at the drifting snow, and then inside at her cozyroom and the crackling fire. "It is too late for me to go with you,good sirs," she said, "the weather is too cold." She went inside againand shut the door, and the old men journeyed on to Bethlehem withouther. But as Babouscka sat by her fire, rocking, she began to thinkabout the Little Christ-Child, for she loved all babies.

"To-morrow I will go to find Him," she said; "to-morrow, when it islight, and I will carry Him some toys."

So when it was morning Babouscka put on her long cloak and took herstaff, and filled her basket with the pretty things a baby wouldlike--gold balls, and wooden toys, and strings of silver cobwebs--andshe set out to find the Christ-Child.

But, oh, Babouscka had forgotten to ask the three old men the road toBethlehem, and they travelled so far through the night that she couldnot overtake them. Up and down the road she hurried, through woods andfields and towns, saying to whomsoever she met: "I go to find theChrist-Child. Where does He lie? I bring some pretty toys for His sake."

But no one could tell her the way to go, and they all said: "Fartheron, Babouscka, farther on." So she travelled on and on and on for yearsand years--but she never found the little Christ-Child.

They say that old Babouscka is travelling still, looking for Him. Whenit comes Christmas Eve, and the children are lying fast asleep,Babouscka comes softly through the snowy fields and towns, wrapped inher long cloak and carrying her basket on her arm. With her staff sheraps gently at the doors and goes inside and holds her candle close tothe little children's faces.

"Is He here?" she asks. "Is the little Christ-Child here?" And then sheturns sorrowfully away again, crying: "Farther on, farther on!" Butbefore she leaves she takes a toy from her basket and lays it besidethe pillow for a Christmas gift. "For His sake," she says softly, andthen hurries on through the years and forever in search of the littleChrist-Child.

XXIII. CHRISTMAS IN THE BARN*

* From "In the Child's World," by Emilie Poulssen, Milton Bradley Co.,Publishers. Used by permission.

F. ARNSTEIN

Only two more days and Christmas would be here! It had been snowinghard, and Johnny was standing at the window, looking at the soft, whitesnow which covered the ground half a foot deep. Presently he heard thenoise of wheels coming up the road, and a wagon turned in at the gateand came past the window. Johnny was very curious to know what thewagon could be bringing. He pressed his little nose close to the coldwindow pane, and to his great surprise, saw two large Christmas-trees.Johnny wondered why there were TWO trees, and turned quickly to run andtell mamma all about it; but then remembered that mamma was not athome. She had gone to the city to buy some Christmas presents and wouldnot return until quite late. Johnny began to feel that his toes andfingers had grown quite cold from standing at the window so long; so hedrew his own little chair up to the cheerful grate fire and sat therequietly thinking. Pussy, who had been curled up like a little bundle ofwool, in the very warmest corner, jumped up, and, going to Johnny,rubbed her head against his knee to attract his attention. He pattedher gently and began to talk to her about what was in his thoughts.

He had been puzzling over the TWO trees which had come, and at last hadmade up his mind about them. "I know now, Pussy," said he, "why thereare two trees. This morning when I kissed Papa good-bye at the gate hesaid he was going to buy one for me, and mamma, who was busy in thehouse, did not hear him say so; and I am sure she must have bought theother. But what shall we do with two Christmas-trees?"

Pussy jumped into his lap and purred and purred. A plan suddenlyflashed into Johnny's mind. "Would you like to have one, Pussy?" Pussypurred more loudly, and it seemed almost as though she had said yes.

"Oh! I will, I will! if mamma will let me. I'll have a Christmas-treeout in the bam for you, Pussy, and for all the pets; and then you'llall be as happy as I shall be with my tree in the parlour."

By this time it had grown quite late. There was a ring at thedoor-bell; and quick as a flash Johnny ran, with happy, smiling face,to meet papa and mamma and gave them each a loving kiss. During theevening he told them all that he had done that day and also about thetwo big trees which the man had brought. It was just as Johnny hadthought. Papa and mamma had each bought one, and as it was so nearChristmas they thought they would not send either of them back. Johnnywas very glad of this, and told them of the happy plan he had made andasked if he might have the extra tree. Papa and mamma smiled a littleas Johnny explained his plan but they said he might have the tree, andJohnny went to bed feeling very happy.

That night his papa fastened the tree into a block of wood so that itwould stand firmly and then set it in the middle of the barn floor. Thenext day when Johnny had finished his lessons he went to the kitchen,and asked Annie, the cook, if she would save the bones and potatoparings and all other leavings from the day's meals and give them tohim the following morning. He also begged her to give him severalcupfuls of salt and cornmeal, which she did, putting them in paper bagsfor him. Then she gave him the dishes he asked for--a few chipped onesnot good enough to be used at table--and an old wooden bowl. Anniewanted to know what Johnny intended to do with all these things, but heonly said: "Wait until to-morrow, then you shall see." He gathered upall the things which the cook had given him and carried them to thebarn, placing them on a shelf in one corner, where he was sure no onewould touch them and where they would be all ready for him to use thenext morning.

Christmas morning came, and, as soon as he could, Johnny hurried out tothe barn, where stood the Christmas-tree which he was going to trim forall his pets. The first thing he did was to get a paper bag of oats;this he tied to one of the branches of the tree, for Brownie the mare.Then he made up several bundles of hay and tied these on the other sideof the tree, not quite so high up, where White Face, the cow, couldreach them; and on the lowest branches some more hay for Spotty, thecalf.

Next Johnny hurried to the kitchen to get the things Annie had promisedto save for him. She had plenty to give. With his arms and hands fullhe went back to the barn. He found three "lovely" bones with plenty ofmeat on them; these he tied together to another branch of the tree, forRover, his big black dog. Under the tree he placed the big wooden bowl,and filled it well with potato parings, rice, and meat, left fromyesterday's dinner; this was the "full and tempting trough" forPiggywig. Near this he placed a bowl of milk for Pussy, on one platethe salt for the pet lamb, and on another the cornmeal for the dearlittle chickens. On the top of the tree he tied a basket of nuts; thesewere for his pet squirrel; and I had almost forgotten to tell you ofthe bunch of carrots tied very low down where soft white Bunny couldreach them.

When all was done, Johnny stood off a little way to look at thiswonderful Christmas-tree. Clapping his hands with delight, he ran tocall papa and mamma and Annie, and they laughed aloud when they sawwhat he had done. It was the funniest Christmas-tree they had everseen. They were sure the pets would like the presents Johnny had chosen.

Then there was a busy time in the barn. Papa and mamma and Annie helpedabout bringing in the animals, and before long, Brownie, White Face,Spotty, Rover, Piggywig, Pussy, Lambkin, the chickens, the squirrel andBunny, the rabbit, had been led each to his own Christmas breakfast onand under the tree. What a funny sight it was to see them all standingaround looking happy and contented, eating and drinking with such anappetite!

While watching them Johnny had another thought, and he ran quickly tothe house, and brought out the new trumpet which papa had given him forChristmas. By this time the animals had all finished their breakfastand Johnny gave a little toot on his trumpet as a signal that the treefestival was over. Brownie went, neighing and prancing, to her stall,White Face walked demurely off with a bellow, which Spotty, the calf,running at her heels, tried to imitate; the little lamb skippedbleating away; Piggywig walked off with a grunt; Pussy jumped on thefence with a mew; the squirrel still sat up in the tree cracking hernuts; Bunny hopped to her snug little quarters; while Rover, barkingloudly, chased the chickens back to their coop. Such a hubbub ofnoises! Mamma said it sounded as if they were trying to say "MerryChristmas to you, Johnny! Merry Christmas to all."

XXIV. THE PHILANTHROPIST'S CHRISTMAS*

This story was first published in the Youth's Companion, vol. 82.

JAMES WEBER LINN

"Did you see this committee yesterday, Mr. Mathews?" asked thephilanthropist.

His secretary looked up.

"Yes, sir."

"You recommend them then?"

"Yes, sir."

"For fifty thousand?"

"For fifty thousand--yes, sir."

"Their corresponding subscriptions are guaranteed?"

"I went over the list carefully, Mr. Carter. The money is promised, andby responsible people."

"Very well," said the philanthropist. "You may notify them, Mr.Mathews, that my fifty thousand will be available as the bills come in."

"Yes, sir."

Old Mr. Carter laid down the letter he had been reading, and took upanother. As he perused it his white eyebrows rose in irritation.

The old gentleman tapped impatiently the letter he held in his hand."Do you pay no attention, Mr. Mathews, to my rule that NO personalletters containing appeals for aid are to reach me? How do you accountfor this, may I ask?"

"I beg your pardon," said the secretary again. "You will see, Mr.Carter, that that letter is dated three weeks ago. I have had thewoman's case carefully investigated. She is undoubtedly of goodreputation, and undoubtedly in need; and as she speaks of her father ashaving associated with you, I thought perhaps you would care to see herletter."

"A thousand worthless fellows associated with me," said the old man,harshly. "In a great factory, Mr. Mathews, a boy works alongside of themen he is put with; he does not pick and choose. I dare say this womanis telling the truth. What of it? You know that I regard my money as apublic trust. Were my energy, my concentration, to be wasted byinnumerable individual assaults, what would become of them? My fortunewould slip through my fingers as unprofitably as sand. You understand,Mr. Mathews? Let me see no more individual letters. You know that Mr.Whittemore has full authority to deal with them. May I trouble you toring? I am going out."

"None, sir. The police was here again yesterday sir, but they said as'ow--"

"The police!" The words were fierce with scorn. "Eight thousandincompetents!" He turned abruptly and went toward the door, where hehalted a moment.

"Mr. Mathews, since that woman's letter did reach me, I suppose I mustpay for my carelessness--or yours. Send her--what does she say--fourchildren?-- send her a hundred dollars. But, for my sake, send itanonymously. Write her that I pay no attention to such claims." He wentout, and Sniffen closed the door behind him.

"Takes losin' the little dog 'ard, don't he?" remarked Sniffen, sadly,to the secretary. "I'm afraid there ain't a chance of findin' 'im now.'E ain't been stole, nor 'e ain't been found, or they'd 'ave brung himback for the reward. 'E's been knocked on the 'ead, like as not. 'Ewasn't much of a dog to look at, you see--just a pup, I'd call 'im. An'after 'e learned that trick of slippin' 'is collar off--well, I fancyMr. Carter's seen the last of 'im. I do, indeed."

Mr. Carter meanwhile was making his way slowly down the snowy avenue,upon his accustomed walk. The walk, however, was dull to-day, forSkiddles, his little terrier, was not with him to add interest andexcitement. Mr. Carter had found Skiddles in the country a year and ahalf before. Skiddles, then a puppy, was at the time in a mostundignified and undesirable position, stuck in a drain tile, and unableeither to advance or to retreat. Mr. Carter had shoved him forward,after a heroic struggle, whereupon Skiddles had licked his hand.Something in the little dog's eye, or his action, had induced the richphilanthropist to bargain for him and buy him at a cost of half adollar. Thereafter Skiddles became his daily companion, his chiefdistraction, and finally the apple of his eye.

Skiddles was of no known parentage, hardly of any known breed, but hesuited Mr. Carter. What, the millionaire reflected with a proudcynicism, were his own antecedents, if it came to that? But nowSkiddles had disappeared.

As Sniffen said, he had learned the trick of slipping free from hiscollar. One morning the great front doors had been left open for twominutes while the hallway was aired. Skiddles must have slipped downthe marble steps unseen, and dodged round the corner. At all events, hehad vanished, and although the whole police force of the city had beenroused to secure his return, it was aroused in vain. And for threeweeks, therefore, a small, straight, white bearded man in a furovercoat had walked in mournful irritation alone.

He stood upon a corner uncertainly. One way led to the park, and thishe usually took; but to-day he did not want to go to the park--it wastoo reminiscent of Skiddles. He looked the other way. Down there, ifone went far enough, lay "slums," and Mr. Carter hated the sight ofslums; they always made him miserable and discontented. With all hismoney and his philanthropy, was there still necessity for such miseryin the world? Worse still came the intrusive question at times: Had allhis money anything to do with the creation of this misery? He owned notenements; he paid good wages in every factory; he had given sums suchas few men have given in the history of philanthropy. Still--there werethe slums. However, the worst slums lay some distance off, and hefinally turned his back on the park and walked on.

It was the day before Christmas. You saw it in people's faces; you sawit in the holly wreaths that hung in windows; you saw it, even as youpassed the splendid, forbidding houses on the avenue, in the green thathere and there banked massive doors; but most of all, you saw it in theshops. Up here the shops were smallish, and chiefly of the provisionvariety, so there was no bewildering display of gifts; but there wereChristmas-trees everywhere, of all sizes. It was astonishing how manypeople in that neighbourhood seemed to favour the old-fashioned idea ofa tree.

Mr. Carter looked at them with his irritation softening. If they madehim feel a trifle more lonely, they allowed him to feel also a trifleless responsible--for, after all, it was a fairly happy world.

At this moment he perceived a curious phenomenon a short distancebefore him--another Christmas-tree, but one which moved, apparently ofits own volition, along the sidewalk. As Mr. Carter overtook it, hesaw that it was borne, or dragged, rather by a small boy who wore abright red flannel cap and mittens of the same peculiar material. AsMr. Carter looked down at him, he looked up at Mr. Carter, and spokecheerfully:

"Goin' my way, mister?"

"Why," said the philanthropist, somewhat taken back, "I WAS!"

"Mind draggin' this a little way?" asked the boy, confidently, "myhands is cold."

"Won't you enjoy it more if you manage to take it home by yourself? "

"Oh, it ain't for me!" said the boy.

"Your employer," said the philanthropist, severely, "is certainlycareless if he allows his trees to be delivered in this fashion."

"I ain't deliverin' it, either," said the boy. "This is Bill's tree."

"Who is Bill?"

"He's a feller with a back that's no good."

"Is he your brother?"

"No. Take the tree a little way, will you, while I warm myself?"

The philanthropist accepted the burden--he did not know why. The boy,released, ran forward, jumped up and down, slapped his red flannelmittens on his legs, and then ran back again. After repeating thesemanoeuvres two or three times, he returned to where the old gentlemanstood holding the tree.

"Thanks," he said. "Say, mister, you look like Santa Claus yourself,standin' by the tree, with your fur cap and your coat. I bet you don'thave to run to keep warm, hey?" There was high admiration in his look.Suddenly his eyes sparkled with an inspiration.

"Say, mister," he cried, "will you do something for me? Come in toBill's--he lives only a block from here--and just let him see you. He'sonly a kid, and he'll think he's seen Santa Claus, sure. We can tellhim you're so busy to-morrow you have to go to lots of places to-day.You won't have to give him anything. We're looking out for all that.